Soaring with Angels
by PuppyDogJou
Summary: "But standing here on the leaden cement rooftop of Barts, looking down at John's small form standing in the parking lot below, I know those accusations to be false. I know I have broken the one rule I made for myself." Sherlock/John unbeta'd


**TITLE: **Soaring with Angels  
><strong>RATING:<strong> T for Teen  
><strong>WARNING:<strong> Homosexual themes. _**SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL EPISODE OF SEASON TWO!**_  
><strong>SUMMARY:<strong> Sherlock Holmes' final thoughts as he stands looking down at the pavement below, cellphone still pressed firmly to his ear. (Slash: Sherlock/John)  
><strong>PAIRING:<strong>Slight Sherlock/John. [If this is a problem, stop reading now.]

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Sherlock. If I had there would be a bit more kissing and/or groping between our two favorite detective consultants.

**NOTES:**I would like to apologies a head of time for typing errors. This story is unbeta'd.

_Without further ado, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at writing for Sherlock._

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><p><em>Soaring with Angels<em>

"_**Hello?**_"

"_**John.**_"

I have always found people to be less than important.—"_**Hey, Sherlock. You okay?**_"—Those who insist on calling themselves _human beings_, walking around surrounded by pounds of flesh and even more pounds of makeup and the 'proper to dos' were never a concern of mine;—_**"Turn around and walk back the way you came!"—**_where they cannot look past their own noses, least of all pay attention enough to _see_ anything.—_**"No, I'm coming in."—**_I have always found their sheer stupidity baffling;—_**"Just do as I ask! …Please."—**_their mental capacity barley above that of a goldfish.

"_**Where?"**_

"_**Stop there."**_

"_**Sherlock?"**_

My work was not to save lives. No, I am no hero.—_**"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."—**_I do not need some juxtaposition of personality traits. It is fact. —_**"Oh, god."—**_My work was relevant only for the game; the game that ties all the cases together – the importance of _knowing_, of understanding the point of it: How it works, and why. I cared not for those insignificant pounds of flesh, lifeless or not. Their societal constraints amused me to observe, but I had no real interest to partake.

"_**I—I… I can't come down, so we'll—we'll just have to do it like this."**_

"_**What's going on?"**_

"_**An apology… It's all true."**_

"_**What?"**_

So, it is of no real surprise that I had nothing to do with them.—_** "Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."**_—I did my work. I helped those who asked for it – and provided an intriguing case of course.—_**"Why are you saying this?"—**_And there was always Mrs. Hudson, my landlady, who makes an adequate batch of tea. But my interactions were limited, and I never bothered myself with trivial social gatherings; they were always too low for me.

I had never been attached. Emotions were a weakness I would not allow for. They were the clog in the machine. They broke focus. They added stakes. —**"**_**I'm a fake.**_**"—**Feelings were never something I… _felt_. They slowed the mind and dulled the senses. Neither of which I permitted. A beating heart keeps you alive, but a metaphorical one will bring forth your doom.

Not to mention, I have been told on numerous occasions—**"**_**Sherlock…**_**"—**that I don't have one.

"—_**The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want to you tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact tell anyone who will listen to you... That I created Moriarty for my own purposes.**_**"**

"_**Okay, Sherlock. Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met—The first time we met you knew all about my sister, right?**_**"**

But standing here on the leaden cement rooftop of Barts looking down at John's small form standing in the parking lot below, I know those accusations to be false.—**"**_**No one could be that clever.**_**"**—I know I have broken the one rule I made for myself. Somewhere within the last eighteen months I had started to care. That small, soft spoken**—"**_**You could.**_**"**—_caring lark_ had made me feel.

"_**I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you… It's a trick. It's just a magic trick."**_

That beautifully ordinary man standing so far away had done what they all had dubbed impossible.—_**"No. Alright, stop it now."—**_John Watson, the man who I could easily read but hardly understand, had found my painfully annoying metaphorical heart, and he refused to let me throw it aside again. He is the reason I'm standing—

"_**No, stay exactly where you are! Don't move!"**_

He is why—

"_**Alright."**_

John is the reason my fingertips longed for nothing more than to brush across his open palm; the reason I yearned to learn what his skin would feel like under my hand.—_** "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"—**_John is why all I want to do in this moment is to pull that simple man into my arms; why I ached to feel those light locks against my cheek.—_**"Do what?"—**_To feel his hand in mine one more time. He is my desire, my need.

"_**This phone call—it's uhm… It's my note…. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."**_

But above all else, John Watson is my purpose. His unshakable faith, his unmatched resolve; there is no one else in the world I value more so than him. There is no one else with a beating heart I would give my life for. There is no one else whose opinion I hold in such high regard. There is no one else who matters.

"_**Leave a note? When?**_

Beautiful, courageous John, I hope you can forgive me for this. I hope you _see_ why I must do it: Understand, _please_ John. I need you to understand. I need you to forgive me. You have so many times in the past, but this I fear is perhaps asking too much of you. But you have to, John. I need you to, John. Be angry. Be sad. Be upset. But don't hate me, please John, never hate me.

"_**Goodbye, John."**_

I love you, John.

"_**No! Don't!"**_

The fall. My own personal Reichenbach fall. Do you really believe me now, Moriarty? I am on the side of the Angels; the side of John. But I am not one of them; Angels do not fall, Moriarty, they fly. Yet I am most certainly not like you though. No, I am _better_ than you; I've kept my heart intact. I've _beaten_ you; I will keep my heart intact. Watch me now. Watch very closely. For while my body hits the ground, I will still soar.

I am not an Angel. I am simply human.

But above all, I am—

"_**SHERLOCK!"**_

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><p><em>Well, what did you think? It was my first attempt at anything Sherlock related. And I have to say writing as Sherlock himself is a bit more difficult than I imagined. <em>

_Sorry again that this hasn't been beta'd. If anyone would like to go through and help me edit, please do contact me! A second pair of eyes is always more than helpful! =D_

3 Reviews are always nice! Thanks for reading!


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